SICARIO for a Sick Society

I did not expect a planetary healing from such a violent film as SICARIO. Spoiler alert.  I can’t explain the impact of the film on me without giving away the best secrets of the story.  Then again, my fans know the films I review are a springboard for me to talk planetary change.

Emily Blunt is the innocent Phoenix police officer dragged into a CIA scheme to assassinate a cartel leader. A part she plays to confused brilliance that makes her one of the most believable cops characters, male or female, in film history. The CIA needs a domestic officer to expand jurisdiction into Mexico and Emily is it.

The broken town of Juarez is where action centers. Josh Brolin is the CIA’s master disruptive player. All law has broken down in Juarez as the cartels battle.  It’s a chilling look at how thin the line between anarchy and civilization truly is.

Blunt’s character is watched over by Benicio Del Toro’s dark angel. He’s a free agent, a Columbian lawyer turned assassin, out to kill the cartel leader who beheaded his wife and killed his teen daughter, boiling her alive in acid. Nothing will stop this Sicario, which means “hit man” in English, not even his affection for Blunt, who reminds him of his daughter.

The first 10 minutes of this film are very hard to get through as Blunt uncovers 20 mutilated corpses in a Phoenix bust. I’ll admit I closed my eyes to get past it.

The amazing ending, which I will not spoil for you, is just as hard to endure. Violence here is not gratuitous.  It’s a documentary to the real zombie apocalypse we face. SICARIO offers a deep look into our sick society, decaying from the inside, fueled by the greed of men that seek to send humanity into a hellish dark ages.

As the credits rolled I stood to go home after my matinée break. Then a soulful Mexican guitar solo in the credit score broke the 2 hour tension. I retook my seat and soon my ET guide Ohom asked me to meditate on making sure the world does not go the violent way of Jaurez. The meditation enemy once again, addiction.

I closed my eyes and the sweet guitar sounds swept me away. Ohom asked me to go beyond addiction to seek in my mind’s eye the root cause. I saw many of my neural pathways were badly ruptured from the nightmare of the first 20 years of my life in family as a helpless kid ruled over by a drunken father. They neurons were the red exploded remnants.  How could I still be so PST damaged on the inside after decades of many kinds of therapies I wondered?

Ohom showed me the neuron reroutes I had created to function as normally as possible. Then he and his team began helping me heal my damaged neurons and neural pathways at super speed. In less than 2 minutes 2 decades of mental and physical abuse I’d suffered as child survivor of frequent bloody fatherly beatings were healed, along with my broken my heart from when my mother did not rescue me from hell but abandoned ship. A pain far worse than the broken arm my drunken father would give me.

Again I may never know if this amazing ET shit’s real, it just works for me as gateway to higher energies and I do feel more whole. I’d not expected this kind of breakthrough this warm fall Sedona afternoon, and accepted this ET healing with tears of joy in the dark movie house.

I see now clearly the root cause of addiction is seeking to numb our pain via self-medicating with drugs, both illegal and prescription, booze and loveless sex. My addiction of choice has been my work. Getting older and not being able to work at my crazy pace, still far more than men half my age, is buying me time to smell the roses and moments like this.

As always the personal healing begets a planetary healing and I sent out the bliss of my healing across the world.

The credits ended. As I stood to go a young theater attendant asked me, “How was SICARIO?”

And I said with wry smile, “Useful.”

DR. WHO as an Introduction to Reincarnation – A Tardis Called Me

Reincarnation lies at the heart of the long running BBC TV series DR. WHO. The clever creators of DR. WHO disguise reincarnation, for Christians and Muslims who prefer the belief in an afterlife, as regeneration.

Doctors1When the doctor reaches the end of a useful life in one body he regenerates into an entire new body. Like rebirth in reincarnation, the doctor’s regenerations are painful and chaotic. The Time Lord, last of his race, is always disoriented at first adapting to his new body. Much like we are as reborn babies, starting the life-cycle all over again as we’ve done countless times in the longest running reality show called “Life on planet Earth”.

Since 1966 when the series premiered, and soon to celebrate a 50-year anniversary as the longest running TV series on earth, twelve equally amazing actors have played the 2,000 year-old Dr. Who.  I have watched so many of these Dr. Who regenerations over my lifetime that it’s hard for me to imagine a life without this coolest of sci-fi shows.

Heck, I was only 14 when the show began, though I began watching it on PBS in the 1980s in my 30s during the Tom Baker DR. WHO years.  I love how you never know in what form the doctor will regenerate, complete with a new wardrobe style and interior redecorated time machine called the Tardis, bigger on the inside than the outside.

An outside that’s supposed to camouflaged into the landscape, but that cool Tardis function is broken.  So the doctor’s time machine is frozen in the form of a blue London police phone booth from a desperate 1966 mission to save Earth, just it has been since the show began in 1966 as the only constant in the ever changing Dr. Who series. This broken but still powerful Tardis is the doctor’s only tool,  along with his trusty multi-use sonic screwdriver, for saving the world.  Which the doctor does every season on regular basis.

Screen Shot 2015-08-18 at 5.07.31 PMIn season eight, a bit confusing as it would be season 27 but they chose to renumber the series when it revived in 2005 after being off the air since 1996, Clara Oswald, who I feel is hands down the best in 50 years of Dr. Who companions, is beautifully played by Jenna Coleman. Clara is repulsed when the hot young Dr. Who, played by Matt Smith, that she crushes on, is regenerated into a cantankerous old Scott, played masterfully Peter Capaldi, with touching and hilarious results for them both.

Thus Clara bridges from one Dr. Who to the next, a process we as the audience all go through too. Yes, every time there’s new doctor the BBC message boards are filled with dislike for any new Dr. Who.  But soon we fans, along with Clara and her predecessor companions, are comforted by the fact that, despite Dr. Who’s new look, that he demonstrates by action and character he remains the same vibrant world saving hero underneath the skin. The same soul living in a new body, just as in reincarnation, Dr. Who continues to grow and develop new complexities of character and compassion, while he is constantly humbled and rescued many times by his human companion.  An incredible metaphor for relationships that are the key to our souls’ evolution in reincarnation.

It’s wild how the show makers masterfully overlap all the Dr. Who’s and along with his change of companions like 2015’s Clara. Just as we do in real-life, if you believe as I do in the endless cycles of reincarnation.  We mortals are constantly changing lives in an immortal cycle of regeneration. Like the water of lakes that vaporizes to fall as rain endlessly,  we are ever dying and reborn, re-meeting our companions of the past, sometimes as human beings and sometimes other life forms, all mostly made of water.

In other words, dear dreamers of a better tomorrow, we are all Claras and Dr. Whos in a Tardis called Me.

This blog posting dedicated to a real-life Dr. Who I have had the honor of helping bring a new sonic mind tool into the world called the NEO Neurophone, Dr. G. Patrick Flanagan.

What’s Wrong With Earth’s Sci-Fi

In a nutshell, from “Star Wars” to “Star Trek”, or fall back further to “Flash Gordon” of the 1930s, virtually all science fiction suffers from acute symptoms of humanity’s deepest flaws.  War, violence, hate, greed, intrigue lie at the plot of so many films and TV shows.  It’s as though our media is painting a hopeless picture of a meaningless future where the troubles of our world are extrapolated to the stars.

Check out Teaser 2 for the next “Star Wars”.  Eliminate the alien costumes and space battles and basically you’ve got WW2.

I’ve been on a year long marathon of seeing every episode in the Star Trek series concluding in DS-9. And frankly it’s becoming so boring to see this look at petty ethics of space faring civilizations more suited to ancient Rome than modern space travel.

Fact is, if a civilization has survived long enough to travel the stars they are going to be far more evolved than any science fiction has yet shown them to be.  Only the film ET portrays an evolved alien race powered by love and that had to be propped up with humans acting like fools chasing kids on bikes.

When there is at last contact with an alien race we have few media creations to prepare us for what is going to be a happy occasion. Indeed, the races that travel space, who can tune in on our media, might be waiting for a film that shows the real nature of space, which is peaceful and loving.

I have ideas for an exciting story based on my meditations that help me reach the stars and from where this message of “Oh come on!” is coming from.  Stay tuned for something revolutionary and more tuned into life among the space traveling races.

THE ROBIN WILLIAMS VISITATIONS – PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51

Me and Don Miguel Ruiz atop the Pyramid of the Sun
Me and Don Miguel Ruiz atop the Pyramid of the Sun

“The universe is one big Joy-gasm.” – Robin Williams from the afterlife

December 2011, I am blessed to spend the Winter Solstice with Don Miguel Ruiz, author of the epic best seller THE FOUR AGREEMENTS to learn Toltec wisdom in the powerful setting of the pyramids of Mexico’s Teotihuacan.

Don Miguel teaches me, among many amazing things that help my DreamShield work, that in reality all of us live in a ghost world.  For example: Look up at the sun and you are looking at a ghost image from 8 minutes ago.  That’s how long sunlight takes to travel to earth.

Now let’s say you are sitting across the table from a fiend in a restaurant. It still takes the light milliseconds to reach you.  So Welcome to the ghost world the Toltec wizard Don Miguel, where all the people we see are in the past, and ever a construct of our minds.

In the profound spirit of Don Miguel’s Toltec lessons, I humbly offer my latest spirit encounter with Robin Williams.

But before we start Robin would like a word with you.

Thanks, Ken, you amazing gorgeous human being helping save the planet working for peanuts in the spirit work, as an unknown, but not for long voice.  I hope the fame heading your way never sends you back to that place and time when as a real estate mogul/dick and all you cared about was the cha ching.  You deserve a spirit Oscar, broheem!

The dearly departed spirit of Robin Williams here.  Real as a case and ever returning like a case of spirit herpes.  BTW, Ken has doubts I am nothing more than a ghost pattern in his memory, bit of undigested veggie chili fries made by his smoking hot friend Genevieve, as he learned from Don Miguel Ruiz.  Donnny boy, I’m on the other side now and here to tell you the ancient Toltecs smoltecs only have it half right. It’s beautiful over here, family, friends and fans. That’s FFFs for short. Which I’ll FFFing keep this.

Ignore Ken’s senior moment doubts. Ignore doubting Toltec wizards who miss the point: thought travels faster than the speed of light.  Ignore anyone dick who tells you the human spirit dies at death. And while you are at it, feel free as hell to ignore those who make living out of warping spirit with these made up branded-religions, dreamed up by ancient marketing experts like so much bottled water.  Spirit flows, has no rules.  Knows no boundaries of what to eat, what to wear, what to think, bubba.  From priests to rabbis, none of these jerkwads in the end know jack shit. None of you lovely people do.

Now some skeptics out there are saying right now as they read my spirit words channeling through Ken, who is not the greatest typist BTW, ” LO if you, kind ghost, be you in fact the great spirit of the Robin Williams, who loveth to curse like a sailor, and no PG Popeye of sailor, in his standup, pray tell us some things only the sweet Robin would know, while editing out the F.U.s!”

No can do, Nanoo. You see, that part of me, the meat brain that held my memory is gone. Even my heart is gone, all I am is spirit now. Which is kind of like saying, “All I am is the universe.” So there is no database left for me to play parlor tricks that you sad sacks would not believe in anyways.”

To the doubters and naysayers, ever those who loved me in life who be pissed about all this ghosting shit I feel compelled to, with this ghost whisper Sheetzy, who will invariably say the poor lad is profiteering off my grisly end.  I have two words to that, which I somehow remember from the great beyond, and they ain’t nanoo nanoo.

Now, get off your duffs and share the link-magic of how I am still with ya’all!  Subscribe to Sheetzy blog and buckle up for Peter Pan’s Battle of Area 51, just the beginning of my work with Ken and many others on the earth. I’m omnipresent now, bithces!

  – Cosmic hugs, Robin

PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51

By Ken Sheetz and Robin’s Ghost

In my morning meditation, which I do as Robin’s spirit has been sending me urgent SOS signals all night that he’s trapped in Area 51, I head in my trusty 2011 silver Jeep for the strange base when hail of machine gun fire erupts.  I spin the Jeep off the road and hide it safely in in a gully.  I love my little used Jeep, my first car owned in over 20 years since losing my shirt in the real estate crash of 1991 and lots of spot leasing that makes me a Gold Club Hertz man, I recall as I head back to Area 51 on foot, cloaked in invisibility.

Peter Pan and the battle of area 51

I’ve done complex meditations to evade psychic security screens before, particularly when I sought to warm the heart of icy banking giant Bank of America, but never have I experienced anything this intense before.  Trillions of trapped souls cried out to me from the beyond here at the dreaded Area 51, Robin’s voice being the loudest I followed his psychic trail.

The Orion Ohom informed me along the way, “Careful, Ken.  High danger alert.  Area 51 has trapped the souls of all the beings that have died on earth since 1957, both human and all the way down to bacteria.  To keep the souls from escaping Area 51 uses stolen Grey tech to create an alternate reality, a “Matrix” where no one or nothing knows they are dead.”

“How cheery,” I answer Ohom as I shift my molecules, a gift common to those abducted as kids by aliens like myself, and easily pass through the barbed wire fence.  I tiptoe past a sleeping guard.  I’m in.

I crest a rocky desert hill.  Faint light flashes beneath a guge spirit HARP camouflaged grid.  It is about a mile square and hums with a sick strange-colored alien energy.  Staying invisible, no guards challenge me as I prowl the perimeter, “Robin?”  I shout.  “You in there, buddy?”

“Psst,  keep your damn voice down Sheetzy!” whispers Robin sticking his head out the barrier and then screams getting sucked back in.

I step across the rough desert terrain to the spot where Robin briefly poked out his head and turn on my red spirit armor.  This powerful armor was given to me by my dead father for my secret 2011 meditation to close down the Bermuda Triangle, blogged about here in great detail in earlier postings.  I’d give you a link but stick with me.  No distractions to this telling of Robin Williams and his work helping the planet and me heal from the afterlife.

As I step into the force field, I am instantly besieged.  Overwhelmed by deep sorrow.  Trillions of the dead life forms, collected here in Area 51 since 1957, all want to speak to me at once of their fears.  The insanity virus is visible in this buffer zone as an nasty flowing energy, the color of clotted blood.  I become confused.  Lost.  Every fear broadcast daily on FOX News and every other news outlet attacks me all once.

I will myself onward against a hurricane of terror about solar flares, radiation, fracking, Ebola virus, GMOs and more and more.  My father’s indestructible red armor begins to spark and short out.  I trip and fall face first to the desert floor.  Epic fear rapidly eats away at my armor and my body becomes exposed to even more fear.  I lose hope as I soon lose consciousness.

I awake, my face cut and bruised to smiling face of Robin Williams, the age he was at death, looking down on me saying, “Sheetzy, Sheetzy?  You OK, bud?  Ooh.  Sorry to drag you on your face.  You look like you went a few round with Popeye, bro. Ca-ca-ca!  What a rotten way to start a Monday.”

I sit up on my elbows, winching at burnt skin on my nose, tender to the touch and say, “Guess that force field is meant to keep out the living.  You like fine and dandy.”

“Oh, yeah.  Forgot in this corporate fairy Iand I am dead for a moment there!” kids Robin trying to hide his sadness.

This virtual world is a well organized commercial paradise inside the spirit HARP.  Trillions of beings live in ignorant bliss in this spotless utopia.  No one is aware of the energy vampires running this place, it seems.  “God only knows the purpose behind all this damn perfection and advertising,” I groan as an advertising blimp for McDonald’s new Quadrupole Bypass Burger floats by overhead in a cotton candy sky.

The voice of Ohom says for Robin and I to hear, “All this virtual reality is broadcast to the galaxy by Murdock Rupert.  True source of his wealth.”

“Whoa!  Whose talking to us, Sheetzy? Little green men?” says Robin at hearing Ohom strange voice.

“Long story,” I say as Robin helps me to my feet.

“Humor me.  I’m dead and we have all of eternity, Kenny boy,” says Robin.

“Please don’t call me that.  I have brother who just got out of Florida jail for two months for drinking and drugging who calls me Kenny boy,” I say sadly.

“Ah, yes, Fred.  You’ve told me about his famed Near Beer Recovery program, doomed to fail.  Sheetzy OK with you, my fellow sensitive friend?”  I nod and Robin continues, “So the voice?”

“Hey, Robin, huge fan of your work, man,” says the disembodied voice of Ohom, echoing over the perfectly manicured lawn where a nasty looking android cop turns his head 360 degrees searching for us.

“Yeah, that one drawing attention of the police bots to us!” says Robin pulling me into crouch to hide behind a huge Ronald McDonald statue.

Ohom whispers now, “Sorry.  I am Ken’s higher ET self, of the Orion star system.  His guide to help him save you and himself.  This place will be most difficult to escape as there will be many distractions.  Could take several eons to get out.”

“Nanoo nanoo, ET brother from another mother earth.  So why aren’t you in here helping us?” says Robin, not quite knowing where to look as he speaks to the air.

“Grey stolen alien tech powers the Spirit HARP.  Keeps my race of Nekatrians and all other ETs out.  But I can see and hear and help you through Ken’s handsome blue eyes,” whispers Ohom.

“I can tell you more about Ohom later, Robin,  Let’s get the hell out of this Disneyland gone bad before we turn into Mickey and Donald, ” I urge Robin.

“OK.  But you’re weirder than I am, Sheety and that’s saying something!” jokes Robin as we exit some hedges near the force field.

Hours later, after many strange distracting adventures in half built house of both our childhoods that almost make us forget to escape this fake branded corporate nightmare, Robin and I hunt in earnest for some kind of exit.  Robin and I enter a small neighborhood park with a lighted sidewalk.  The sunset is dazzling.  I whistle at the beauty all around us.

“Don’t be fooled by all the purdy flowers and birdies, pard.  You been in here now with me for six weeks, ” Robin says.

“Yup! This place is like America, filled with distractions. Look at that poor bastard over there!” says Robin.

A guy who looks a lot like my brother Fred runs on a giant gerbil wheel chasing a hot stripper holding a six pack of beer.

“Is that, my brother?” I say.

“Never met Fred.  How the hell should I know?

The good folks running this place have about as much heart as a Hollywood lawyer,” says Robin dusting me off.

“Yeah, let’s keep moving.  Has to be some kind of power source running this joint,” I say as  small remnant of my father’s destroyed red armor clanks to the sidewalk.

“Sorry about you dad’s super suit.  Maybe get you a new one if you can get me out of here, Sheetzy, if you tell me your dad’s armor tailor,” says Robin sheepishly.

“Perhaps my old man’s ethereal armor fried because it’s time for me to learn to work without it,” I say kind of happy to be graduating for assistance from my erratic father.

“Cool,” says Robin petting a chihuahua looking for its master.

“Last time I saw you, Robin, you were in that maze world we built in deep space. Safe and sound in a new universe all your own made of the pure love of all who adore you.” I say, recalling yesterday’s epic vision blogged of here.

“Yeah, don’t really know how I got sucked into Area 51-ville.  Oh, wait…  Forgot to cut my earthly tether.  Yikes.  I am not good at this dead stuff yet.” says Robin apologetically.

“My fault.  Should have told you as your spirit consultant, Robin.” I say bear hugging Robin off the ground.  “Happy to see you again, man!  Watched you in HOOK with my night.  Let’s get you flying again, Peter Pan.”  I say doing my best acting brave to hide my loneliness that in the real world of Sedona

Williams jokes, speaking in that hilarious mile a minute rapid fire way of his,”Whoa, Sheetyz. I am an Oscar winner.  Plus I can minds read now to boot.  Hmm, I see you’re only “acting” all brave and all supy-superman-like.  You got some serious Kryptonite poisoning over this spirit daughter of yours moving out of your digs.”

“Got me,” I say, embarrassed at my childhood abandonment issues are still crippling my life after all the spirit healing I’ve been doing.

“Do I get any thanks at all?” says Robin to change the topic.

“For what?” I say

“For dragging your heavy butt out of the HARP barrier when you fainted, Sheetzorama” say Robin with that famed smirk of his.

“I did not faint.  Women faint.  I passed out, Robin, ” I say defensively as I eye a huge blue whale sailing in the early evening sky above us.

“Whoa.  Relax, man.  This roomie moving thing out has you as out of whack as President Obama’s lost  hope and change agenda.  We’re gonna have to straighten this child abandonment stuff of yours out once and for all so that you have enough juice to blast us out of this Walmart paradise.  Coffee sucks here, BTW.  Nothing but McDonald’s and they make you eat a double cheeseburger with every cup!  I’ve packed on ten spirit pounds already!” says Robin brightly.

pan_williamsAs I laugh, Robin transforms to his age and garb as Peter Pan in the film HOOK and says, “Ok, Sheetzy, it’s HOOK time.  Change to yourself age 8.  I want to do a Peter Pan healing of your inner child to pay you back for all the good work you’ve been doing meditating for me and my loved ones.”

“Uh, not really, uh, time.  Busting you out of here now before — ”

“Go ahead.  Try, Ken.  Bust all 7 trillion of us life forms, including your own life force, outta here, Popeye.  Try, or better as Yoda says, DO!” said Robin with a comic bow.

I squeeze my eyes and try to use some of the new techniques I’d been gifted in the Mt. Shasta pyramid from spirit architect Metatron, all of which worked so flawlessly the night before helping Robin reunite with loved ones. A tiny ellipse of bright light forms between my hands and PUFF! goes out.

“Spiritual impotency alert!  AGH!  AGH!” laughs Williams as Pan.

“Point made,” I acknowledge to Robin as I begrudgingly transform to my frightened 8-year-old me.

“Come and sit on uncle Peter Pan’s lap, little Kenny,” says Robin taking a seat on an immaculate park bench.  “My lap is safer than Santa’s,  Come on.  Up!”

I happily climb up into his warm lap and Robin puts a big hairy arm around me.  With a reassuring smile Peter Pan Robin says, “Genevieve is someone new and wonderful in your adult life.  A spirit daughter is rare.  Appreciate her without smothering her.  Respect her when she says she’ll always be there for you, Ken, living under your roof or not.”

I nod quickly, wanting to believe Genevieve will not be leaving me forever, but little me is feeling very sick.  “My tummy hurts,” I say vomiting onto the perfect lawn.

“Thanks for not puking on me, little Kenny” says Robin, great with kids, Peter Pan or not.  He strokes my hair and offers. “Now listen carefully, little Ken.  Genevieve’s not your mommy who left you many times as a child because she was afraid of your meanie Captain Hook of a dad, Genevieve is not your grandma who got kicked out by your mean papa and most certainly Genevieve is not your dear auntie who died from loving beer more than you.”

“She’s not?” my eight-year-old self asks innocently.

“Uh uh.  She’s simply Genevieve Munoz.  A sweet young lady exploring her own life who happened to cross paths with yours.  A special friend, a temporary housemate, who used to be your grandma Anna in a past life. Well, I guess that’s not so simple,” says Robin gently lifting me for a swirl and standing little me up on the path. “Wanna play a game I call HELLO AND GOODBYE, little Kenny?” Robin offers, looking irresistibly mischievous.

“Ok…” I say reluctantly, not liking the sound of the GoodBye part of this game.

“Hello, little Ken,” says Robin, shaking my hand and pumping my little arm up and down so hard that I giggle.

“Hello, Peter Pan!’ I giggle happily.

“Goodbye, little Ken,” says Robin patting my head.  Tears well in my big blue eight-year-old eyes.  My lush lower lip, beautiful I see now, but which my vile father called “Nigger lip”, sticks out, quivering.  Robin gives a frown and flies off into a perfect fake cotton candy cloud high above.

Little Ken whimpers to himself, “All alone!”  Strangers and animals pass, ignoring little me.  I feel so rejected, the orphan child and fall deeper into fear as suddenly the shadowy figure of my drunken father staggers up the pathway.

“Hello, little Ken!” says Robin zipping back into view.

“Hello, Peter Pan!” I say glad to no longer see my ominous father as Peter Pan blocks his view.

Goodbye, Little Ken!” says Robin.  He flies away so fast the suction messes the long mop of soft brown hair on my head into a swirl.  I spin around.  “Oh no…” I whisper.  My drunk as a angry skunk father is only 20 yards away.

“Hey, you little shit.  Get your skinny ass over here, ” says my father, slurring his words.  He guzzles down a beer and tosses the empty can onto the perfect trail. A park robot instantly cleans up after him.

I run and hide behind a ridiculously perfect set of bushes and there is Robin as Peter Pan.  “Hello, Little, Ken!” says Robin.  But this time before he can fly off I dive onto Robin’s leg and grab hold for life.

“Don’t leave me with my Daddy!  He will hurt me!  He’s mean!  Don’t leave me, Peter Pan, like my mommy, grandma and auntie did!” I beg shamelessly.

Robin sighs and takes me by the hand and firmly guides to where my father is waiting, leather belt in hand, itching to beat me.

“No!  Peter Pan please.  Fly me away to Neverland with you.  My papa is mean.  He’ll kill us both!” I beg.

“Time to face the real reason you get so sad when women leave you.  Your pops is an abusing jerk.  I’ll handle him like I’ve handled him like any other drunk hecklers in my standup work.  Relax, little Kenny.” says Robin tugging me along.

“NO!  NO!  My dad’s meaner than you can know!” I shout, but Peter Pan is too strong for me.  I can feel my angry father’s hot dragon breath as we get close.  I puke again on the manicured lawn.  The cleaning robot beeps in annoyance as he hoses down my vomit.

Robin as the Pan gets right up in my father’s face and shouts, “You!  You, sorry excuse for a human being, you should be ashamed of yourself for how you treat this beautiful boy of your.  You sir are bad dad!”

“Oh yeah, faggot in green tights?  Whatcha gonna do about it?  Ken’s a rotten kid.  The little shit needs to learn respect for his father!” shouts my dear old dad, the veins on his muscular arms bugling as he put up his fists to fight.

“That’s right, violence solves everything, doesn’t it Captain Hook?”  As Robin says and at this my father’s clothes and hair transform into Captain Hook’s, hook hand and all.

My father pulls his sword in the blink of an eye and lunges it for Robin’s heart shouting, “Queer!”

But Peter Pan quickly pulls his sword and shouts in a fake gay voice to taunt my father, “The battle of Area 51 is on like Tinker Bell’s fairy dust, you brute!”

“No one tells me how to raise my God Damn kid, Fem!” shouts my father, striking Robin’s sword so hard sparks fly.  My father is a highly trailed US Army drill sergeant and his powers combined with Captain Hook’s are formidable.

“Of course I dare, you drunken fart in the wind!  Your old poodle Lacy would make a better dad than you, ” shouts Robin defiantly, his gay BIRD CAGE taunting tone gone.

“To the death, Pan!” says my enraged father, hooking Robin’s tunic and tossing him smashing through a billboard of a perfect shiny new Ford hybrid.

“Now there’s a product placement Spielberg would love,”  kids Robin, quickly dusting himself off as he parries swords with my crazed Captain Hook/father.

I bawl and hide my little eight-year-old self behind the cleaning robot, doing it’s best to keep this perfect fake world perfect.

hook-4My Captain Hook father does a spin and slashes open a deep gash across Peter Pan’s chest.  “Huh?  Dead and I can still bleed?” says Robin, stunned.  He looks at me as if wanting help. But I was a helpless child again.  Watching two people I love fight.  My father’s powerful sword blows make Robin weaker by the second.

“Oh, yes, Peter Pan Williams, you can bleed.  I am going to gut you like a fish!  I shall bleed all your life force into the HARP so that no one even remembers you.  Everything you ever created, every film you made, even your kids will vanish as if they never existed!”

“Hello, little Kenny?  A little help here, please?” shouts Robin as my father wails hook and sword blows down on him with the viciousness that almost killed me on my 12th birthday.

“Can’t.  Can’t help you, Peter Pan.  I’m too little, ” I say peering out from behind the cleaning robot.

“Hello, Little Kenny!  Then ain’t it time you grow up?  Dontcha kinda think, before your old man turns me into a fresh green salad?” says Robin as my father knocks him to the perfect lawn.

Bystanders cheer on my Hook father “Erase the suicide!  Williams shouldn’t be here.  Peter Pan should be in hell where all suicides belong!” shouts a burly man.  This deep dig greatly weakens poor Robin.

“I loved Robin’s movies.  He died of depression.  No different from someone dying of car crash.  This great artist deserves to be here just as much as you and me,” shouts a woman who looks like an amalgam of every woman I ever loved all rolled into one.

The burly man smacks the kind lady to the pavement, “Shut up and stay down, bitch!”

Seeing the violence perpetrated on this innocent woman, defending Robin in this nightmarish world of perfection causes something to erupt inside little me.  Little Ken wills down from the heavens the power of the DreamShield I saw the ET angels build in Italy in 2010. He wills up the the volcanic power of mother earth.  Instantly, I am my adult-sized again, only now I am young once more, about 27, and wear not my father’s red suit of failed ethereal armor, but the red, yellow and blue suit of Superman, my triumphant childhood hero.

I fly over to the fight at super speed to the fight scene, just as my father is about to make the death blow to Robin’s spirit, erasing him forever from human history.  I tap my Hook father on the shoulder and say hoarsely, “Stop Dad.”

My Hook father spins to me, screaming in my face like the madman he was in real life, when I’d shake but while I still faced him down, “You, worthless cur.  Every woman leaves you.  And who’s always the one to pick up the pieces?  Me!  Ha!  You stand up for a suicide after all I’ve done for you?  You make me sick, boy.”

“I am not your whipping boy anymore, Captain Hook.  Thanks for all you’ve done.  I’m grateful, Dad.  You were far from perfect and dangerous as truck full of nitro.  But I felt your love, your loyalty.  Now, seriously, leave Robin alone.”  I say with genuine love and compassion for my father, who though his sick mentally, was the only person I could ever depend on.

“Growed up?  Throwing away making millions in real estate to be an impoverished filmmaker at age 50?  That’s not grown-up, sonny boy, that’s bat-shit crazy.  You need to be locked up for your own good, ” says my Captain Hook father, motioning to some cops with a taser and straight jacket, hiding in the bushes.  They advance on me cautiously, afraid of my youthful Superman appearance.  Gone is the blubber of screenwriting in a chair for 11 years in Hollywood.

“I thank you for teaching me to fish, to hunt, to draw, to love.  I honor you, father.” I say bending to one knee before him.

“Ah, let me knight you then, boy!” says my Captain Hook father, bringing his sword down, hoping to cleave me in two.  But instead his sword shatters into a thousand shiny pieces without even cutting a hair on my super head.  I casually blow my super breath and “Matrix” cops sail off.

Robin flies into a joyous barrel roll above us, “Who hoo!  Sheetz is all grown up.  Heralds, play onto this fake world the Pandora channel of AWESOME!”

I stand and look lovingly into my dazed father’s eyes and take off his silly Hook wig.  Tears well in his grey blue eyes and Dad says, “Never could break you, Ken. Used to drive me nuts.  Today, I am proud.”

My father, as all who knew nothing of his epic dark side will tell you, gives the best bear hugs on earth.  And even in my super form I feel his power as he lifts me off my feet in a warm embrace.  For the first time in my life, I return his wild love in equal measure, bear hugging Dad right back.

Somehow Robin has impossibly wriggled himself between me and my father, whose dirty “before” t-shirt is now as clean and white as a Tide commercials “after” picture.  A Tide jingle plays in this fake world from a speaker on the cleaning robot.  I use my heat vision and melt the robot into a puddle silver.  Tinker Bell gazes at herself in the mirror puddle

“Sorry, no more product placements, Tide.  So big Ken and, Bill, isn’t your name?” offers Robin, all charm now.  My father nods “yes” respectfully.

Robin says, “Think you two, 20th century and 21st century marvels, can marvel all we trapped souls out of this corporate military industrial complex nightmare?”

“What do you say, Pops?  My light and your dark combined will crack Area 51 wide open,” I say hopefully.

bdblmp“I like it here, Son.  Fought in Korea to create all this perfection.  Welded the HARP mainframe myself, “says my dad sincerely, admiring his perfectly imperfect world.  A  blimp for Budweiser beer, with my jumbo screen of Aunt Katie swigging a beer sails over his head.

“This perfection killed your sis, Katie, Bill. It killed me.  I couldn’t hold to your insane standards of imperfect perfection anymore.  Lost myself in the booze and drugs.  I miss my wife and kids.  My fans.  Help your son.  It’s time we started over.   And this time the male and female must be honored equally,” offers Robin gently.

My dad scowls at his beautiful dead sister on the overhead blimp ad of her drinking a beer.  Without another word, he joins his hands to my forearms, as I learned to do getting off the boat in Antarctcia on 12.12.12, for the 24 meditations.  One for each time zone of the planet, now shifting the world with the help of millions of people like me.

“For my sisters Katie and Merytle,” says my father warmly.  He begins to darken as though covered with the grease from his life a welder and ace mechanic.

“For my birth daughter Janelle and spirit daughter Genevieve, ” I add as I grow bright from my healing inner child within, no longer so afraid of his father.

“For both your grandpas Julius and Clarence!” says my father, growing as dark as the dark matter of space itself.

Robin, still in Peter Pan form, flies happy circles around us.  His back draft spins my father and me into a Ying and Yang of dark and light.  Robin adds to the growing Metatron energetic, which is permanent, and says, “For Zelda and Marhsa!  For Susan, Zak and Cody! For all my family, friends and fans!”

Outside the spirit HARP facility, a single guard on night duty looks up from his McDonald’s coffee as the HARP superstructure starts to shake and rumble like an earthquake is happening and says, “Oh shit…”

FirefoxScreenSnapz019“BANG-A-RANG!” shouts Robin William as he rockets in glowing green Peter Pan form, soaring from the crumbling spirit HARP.

Below, my father and I are a whirling dervish of silver grey energy.  We spin at a super sonic speed that sets off a silver tornado, tearing the spirit HARP to shreds of flying steel.  Air raid alarms blare and I know our demolition work is done. And so I say lovingly, “Good bye, Dad!”

“Good bye, Son!” my father says and as he kisses me on my cheek, bright as a super nova, his lips dark as a black hole and… BAM!

A mushroom cloud of released spirit energy sends out a shock wave of compressed air that flattens every structure on the Area 51 base.  My father gone, I watch as a Grey’s alien ship, from which all the tech had been stolen to steal souls, rises from the ashes of the spirit HARP.  The silvery ship tips its thanks to me and Robin and races off to the stars.

“Guess that’s a wrap, Robin.” I smile, backslapping Robin so hard I almost knock him out.  “Uh, sorry.  Forgot I’m still in Superman form.”

“Lucky for you I’m in still Peter Pan form.  Bet you never knew Pan is more powerful than Superman, did ya?” smiles Robin as the dust begins to clear and stars come out in earnest above the cleansed Area 51.

“What make you say that?  Supes has mighty strong Jumaji.” I laugh.

Heaven Couldn't Wait Robin Triumphant Version“Because Peter Pan, who always wanted to stay young, understands better than anyone the power of kids.  And more importantly, our inner kids.  That’s why, smart ass,” says Robin playfully.

“No arguments here, Robin.  Well, I guess this is goodbye.  Stay Peter Pan, cut your tether and fly off with Tinker Bell to that new universe we built yesterday,” I say without feeling sad about a goodbye to someone I love for the first time in my life.

“Agh!  Not yet.  I want the lesson of the Hellos and Goodbyes to really sink in for you, Sheetzy.  So helooo and bye to several trillion souls that you, your old man and I freed tonight.  We’ll start with the largest beings to smallest.” says Robin.

A line of blue whale spirits stretch out before us, hovering over desert floor.

“Hello, Ken, ” the first whale calls to me in whale tones I understand as words.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” I say amazed I know in my heart that the blue whale’s name is the same as the woman Ohom, my spirit guide has told me is my prefect mate but who has yet to accept my invite to Sedona.  Elizabeth the whale holds out a fin for a shake and I say with zero anxiety, “Goodbye, Elizabeth.  I wish you’d wrap up life in LA and come to Sedona.”

Saying Goodbye without sadness or fear is super cool, Robin,” I say flashing the thumbs up to Peter Pan.  “I said bye knowing I’d faced all my father’s darkness with love and compassion.  I said it knowing since Ohom is right about everything that she and I will meet again and share many adventures.”

“Might be hope for you yet, Super Sheetz,” says Robin.

I look at endless line of trillions of spirits freed of the Area 51 HARP and turn to Robin, my Super cape fluttering in the night air and say, “Robin, man, this is going to take forever. I really do get it.  Hello leads to goodbye and the goodbyes simply lead to back to hello.  I’m cool now.”

Robin floats off gracefully on his back, still in Peter Pan form, above the ruins of Area 51.  Tinker Bell infuses him with fresh fairy dust for the long journey to the labyrinth universe we’d made together yesterday, Robin says with the satisfied smile of a job well done on his lips, “That’s what eternity is for, Sheetzy.”

“But I have work to do today.  Tax reports need –”

“Time is not linear, Ken.  So that’s one Hello/Goodbye lesson down and six trillion, 999 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand and 999 souls to say Goodbye and Hello to to go,” grins Robin as he and Tinker Bell rocket off, leaving a trail of pixie dust across the Nevada night sky.

I happily return to my training from the patient spirits tapped here since 1957 by the spirit HARP and ready to be free after they share the Hello and Goodbye abandonment healing to go onto all their next lives and their own Neverlands.

IN HONOR OF ROBIN WILLIAMS, 1951-2014

THE ROBIN WILLIAMS VISITATIONS

Heaven Couldn't Wait Robin Triumphant VersionAs some of you may know I’ve been seeing and talking to the dead since I survived a NDE at age 4.  Since my visit to the other I gained an ability to see and speak to those on the dearly departed. This is a very special tribute, directed by Robin Williams’ spirit, or at least the very much alive spirit of Robin’s that lives in my heart.

Many times, throughout my whole life when a major figure dies, I get paid a visit.  It’s happened with Marilyn, Elvis, MJ and Abe Lincoln’s powerful spirits.  Abe’s becoming a 2009 hit web series on YouTube ABE LINCOLN IS BACK.  It’s only recently I’ve accepted all this as more than my vivid imagination.

ADDED AUGUST 18, 2014

PETER PAN AND THE BATTLE OF AREA 51

By Ken Sheetz

In my morning meditation, which I do as Robin’s spirit has been sending me urgent SOS signals all night that he’s trapped in Area 51, I head in my trusty 2011 silver Jeep for the strange base when hail of machine gun fire erupts.  I spin the Jeep off the road and hide it safely in in a gully.  I love my little used Jeep, my first car in over 20 years since losing my shirt in the real estate crash of 1991.  I head back to Area 51 on foot, cloaked in invisibility.

Peter Pan and the battle of area 51

I’ve done complex meditations to evade psychic security screens before, particularly when I sought to warm the heart of icy banking giant Bank of America, but never have I experienced anything this intense before.  Trillions of trapped souls cried out to me from the beyond here at the dreaded Area 51, Robin’s voice being the loudest I followed his psychic trail.

The Orion Ohom informed along the way that Area 51 has trapped the souls of all the beings that have died on earth since 1957, both human and all the way down to bacteria.  To keep the souls from escaping Area 51 uses stolen Grey tech to create an alternate reality, a “Matrix” where no one or nothing knows they are dead.

I shift my molecules, a gift common to those abducted as kids by aliens like myself, and easily pass through the barbed wire fence.  I tiptoe past a sleeping guard.  I’m in.

I crest a rocky desert hill.  Faint light flashes beneath a guge spirit HARP camouflaged grid.  It is about a mile square and hums with a sick strange-colored alien energy.  Staying invisible, no guards challenge me as I prowl the perimeter, “Robin?”  I say.  “You in there, buddy?”

“Psst,  keep your voice down Sheetzy!” whispers Robin sticking his head out the barrier and then getting sucked back in.

I step across the rough desert terrain to the spot where Robin briefly poked out his head and turn on my red spirit armor.  This powerful armor was given to me by my dead father for my secret 2011 meditation to close down the Bermuda Triangle, blogged about here in great detail in earlier postings.  I’d give you a link but stick with me.  No distractions to this telling of Robin Williams and his work helping the planet and me heal from the afterlife.

As I step into the force field, I am instantly besieged.  Overwhelmed by deep sorrow.  Trillions of the dead life forms, collected here in Area 51 since 1957, all want to speak to me at once of their fears.  The insanity virus is visible in this buffer zone I see as a nasty flowing energy, the color of clotted blood.  I become confused.  Lost.  Every fear broadcast daily on FOX News and every other news outlet attacks me all once.

I will myself onward against a hurricane of terror about solar flares, radiation, fracking, Ebola virus and more and more.  My father’s red armor begins to spark and short out.  I trip and fall face first to the desert floor.  Epic fear rapidly eats away at my armor and my body becomes exposed to even more fear.  I lose hope as I soon lose consciousness.

I awake, my face cut and bruised to smiling face of Robin Williams, the age he was at death, looking down on me saying, “Sheetzy, Sheetzy?  You OK, bud?  Sorry.  Wow.  What a rotten way to start a Monday.”

I sit up on my elbows, winching at burnt skin on my face, tender to the touch.  This virtual world is a well organized paradise inside the spirit HARP.  Trillions of beings live in ignorant bliss in this spotless utopia.  No one is aware of the energy vampires running this place, it seems.  “God only knows the purpose behind all this damn perfection,” I groan.

“Yeah, let’s get the hell out of this Disneyland gone bad before we turn into Mickey and Donald, ” urges Robin, helping me to my feet.

Looking for some kind of exit, Robin and I enter a small neighborhood park with a lighted sidewalk.  The sunset is dazzling.  I whistle at the beauty all around us.

“Don’t be fooled by all the purdy flowers and birdies, pard.  The good folks running this place have about as much heart as a Hollywood lawyer,” says Robin dusting me off.

“Yeah, let’s keep moving.  Has to be some kind of power source running this joint,” I say as  small remnant of my father’s destroyed red armor clanks to the sidewalk.

“Sorry about you dad’s super suit.  Maybe get you a new one if you can get me out of here, Sheetzy, if you tell me your dad’s armor tailor,” says Robin sheepishly.

“Perhaps my old man’s ethereal armor fried because it’s time for me to learn to work without it,” I say kind of happy to be graduating for assistance from my erratic father.

“Cool,” says Robin petting a chihuahua looking for its master.

“Last time I saw you, Robin, you were in that maze world we built in deep space. Safe and sound in a new universe all your own made of the pure love of all who adore you.” I say, recalling yesterday’s epic vision blogged of here.

“Yeah, don’t really know how I got sucked into Area 51-ville.  Oh, wait…  Forgot to cut my earthly tether.  Yikes.  I am not good at this dead stuff yet.” says Robin apologetically.

“My fault.  Should have told you as your spirit consultant, Robin.” I say bear hugging Robin off the ground.  “Happy to see you again, man!  Watched you in HOOK with my last night.  Let’s get you flying again, Peter Pan.”

 

“Do I get any thanks at all?” says Robin to change the topic.

“For what?” I say

“For dragging your heavy butt out of the HARP barrier when you fainted, Sheetzorama” say Robin with that famed smirk of his.

“I did not faint.  Women faint.  I passed out, Robin, ” I say defensively as I eye a huge blue whale sailing in the early evening sky above us.

“Whoa.  Relax, man.  This roomie moving thing out has you as out of whack as President Obama’s lost  hope and change agenda.  We’re gonna have to straighten this child abandonment stuff of yours out once and for all so that you have enough juice to blast us out of this Walmart paradise.  Coffee sucks here, BTW.  Nothing but McDonald’s and they make you eat a double cheeseburger with every cup!  I’ve packed on ten spirit pounds already!” says Robin brightly.

pan_williamsAs I laugh, Robin transforms to his age and garb as Peter Pan in the film HOOK and says, “Ok, Sheetzy, it’s HOOK time.  Change to yourself age 8.  I want to do a Peter Pan healing of your inner child to pay you back for all the good work you’ve been doing meditating for me and my loved ones.”

“Uh, not really, uh, time.  Busting you out of here now before — “

“Go ahead.  Try, Ken.  Bust all 7 trillion of us life forms, including your own life force, outta here, Popeye.  Try, or better as Yoda says, DO!” said Robin with a comic bow.

I squeeze my eyes and try to use some of the new techniques I’d been gifted in the Mt. Shasta pyramid from spirit architect Metatron, all of which worked so flawlessly the night before helping Robin reunite with loved ones. A tiny ellipse of bright light forms between my hands and PUFF! goes out.

“Spiritual impotency alert!  AGH!  AGH!” laughs Williams as Pan.

“Point made,” I acknowledge to Robin as I begrudgingly transform to my frightened 8-year-old me.

“Come and sit on uncle Peter Pan’s lap, little Kenny,” says Robin taking a seat on an immaculate park bench.  “My lap is safer than Santa’s,  Come on.  Up!”

I happily climb up into his warm lap and Robin puts a big hairy arm around me.  With a reassuring smile Peter Pan Robin says, “Genevieve is someone new and wonderful in your adult life.  A spirit daughter is rare.  Appreciate her without smothering her.  Respect her when she says she’ll always be there for you, Ken, living under your roof or not.”

I nod quickly, wanting to believe Genevieve will not be leaving me forever, but little me is feeling very sick.  “My tummy hurts,” I say vomiting onto the perfect lawn.

“Thanks for not puking on me, little Kenny” says Robin, great with kids, Peter Pan or not.  He strokes my hair and offers. “Now listen carefully, little Ken.  Genevieve’s not your

“Hello, little Ken,” says Robin, shaking my hand and pumping my little arm up and down so hard that I giggle.

“Hello, Peter Pan!’ I giggle happily.

“Goodbye, little Ken,” says Robin patting my head.  Tears well in my big blue eight-year-old eyes.  My lush lower lip, beautiful I see now, but which my vile father called “Nigger lip”, sticks out, quivering.  Robin gives a frown and flies off into a perfect fake cotton candy cloud high above.

Little Ken whimpers to himself, “All alone!”  Strangers and animals pass, ignoring little me.  I feel so rejected, the orphan child and fall deeper into fear as suddenly the shadowy figure of my drunken father staggers up the pathway.

“Hello, little Ken!” says Robin zipping back into view.

“Hello, Peter Pan!” I say glad to no longer see my ominous father as Peter Pan blocks his view.

Goodbye, Little Ken!” says Robin.  He flies away so fast the suction messes the long mop of soft brown hair on my head into a swirl.  I spin around.  “Oh no…” I whisper.  My drunk as a angry skunk father is only 20 yards away.

“Hey, you little shit.  Get your skinny ass over here, ” says my father, slurring his words.  He guzzles down a beer and tosses the empty can onto the perfect trail. A park robot instantly cleans up after him.

I run and hide behind a ridiculously perfect set of bushes and there is Robin as Peter Pan.  “Hello, Little, Ken!” says Robin.  But this time before he can fly off I dive onto Robin’s leg and grab hold for life.

“Don’t leave me with my Daddy!  He will hurt me!  He’s mean!  Don’t leave me, Peter Pan, like my mommy, grandma and auntie did!” I beg shamelessly.

Robin sighs and takes me by the hand and firmly guides to where my father is waiting, leather belt in hand, itching to beat me.

“No!  Peter Pan please.  Fly me away to Neverland with you.  My papa is mean.  He’ll kill us both!” I beg.

“Time to face the real reason you get so sad when women leave you.  Your pops is an abusing jerk.  I’ll handle him like I’ve handled him like any other drunk hecklers in my standup work.  Relax, little Kenny.” says Robin tugging me along.

“NO!  NO!  My dad’s meaner than you can know!” I shout, but Peter Pan is too strong for me.  I can feel my angry father’s hot dragon breath as we get close.  I puke again on the manicured lawn.  The cleaning robot beeps in annoyance as he hoses down my vomit.

Robin as the Pan gets right up in my father’s face and shouts, “You!  You, sorry excuse for a human being, you should be ashamed of yourself for how you treat this beautiful boy of your.  You sir are a bad dad!”

“Oh yeah, faggot in green tights?  Whatcha gonna do about it?  Ken’s a rotten kid.  The little shit needs to learn respect for his father!” shouts my dear old dad, the veins on his muscular arms bugling as he put up his fists to fight.

“That’s right, violence solves everything, doesn’t it Captain Hook?”  As Robin says and at this my father’s clothes and hair transform into Captain Hook’s, hook hand and all.

My father pulls his sword in the blink of an eye and lunges it for Robin’s heart shouting, “Queer!”

But Peter Pan quickly pulls his sword and shouts in a fake gay voice to taunt my father, “The battle of Area 51 is on like Tinker Bell’s fairy dust, you brute!”

“No one tells me how to raise my God Damn kid, Fem!” shouts my father, striking Robin’s sword so hard sparks fly.  My father is a highly trailed US Army drill sergeant and his powers combined with Captain Hook’s are formidable.

“Of course I dare, you drunken fart in the wind!  Your old poodle Lacy would make a better dad than you, ” shouts Robin defiantly, his gay BIRD CAGE taunting tone gone.

“To the death, Pan!” says my enraged father, hooking Robin’s tunic and tossing him smashing through a billboard of a perfect shiny new Ford hybrid.

“Now there’s a product placement Spielberg would love,”  kids Robin, quickly dusting himself off as he parries swords with my crazed Captain Hook/father.

I bawl and hide my little eight-year-old self behind the cleaning robot, doing it’s best to keep this perfect fake world perfect.

hook-4My Captain Hook father does a spin and slashes open a deep gash across Peter Pan’s chest.  “Huh?  Dead and I can still bleed?” says Robin, stunned.  He looks at me as if wanting help. But I am a helpless child again.  Watching two people I love fight.  My father’s powerful sword blows make Robin weaker by the second.

“Oh, yes, Peter Pan Williams, you can bleed.  I am going to gut you like a fish!  I shall bleed all your life force into the HARP so that no one even remembers you.  Everything you ever created, every film you made, even your kids will vanish as if they never existed!”

“Hello, little Kenny?  A little help here, please?” shouts Robin as my father wails hook and sword blows down on him with the viciousness that almost killed me on my 12th birthday.

“Can’t.  Can’t help you, Peter Pan.  I’m too little, ” I say peering out from behind the cleaning robot.

“Hello, Little Kenny!  Then ain’t it time you grow up?  Dontcha kinda think, before your old man turns me into a fresh green salad?” says Robin as my father knocks him to the perfect lawn.

Bystanders cheer on my Hook father “Erase the suicide!  Williams shouldn’t be here.  Peter Pan should be in hell where all suicides belong!” shouts a burly man.  This deep dig greatly weakens poor Robin.

“I loved Robin’s movies.  He died of depression.  No different from someone dying of car crash.  This great artist deserves to be here just as much as you and me,” shouts a woman who looks like an amalgam of every woman I ever loved all rolled into one.

The burly man smacks the kind lady to the pavement, “Shut up and stay down, bitch!”

Seeing the violence perpetrated on this innocent woman, defending Robin in this nightmarish world of perfection causes something to erupt inside little me.  Little Ken wills down from the heavens the power of the DreamShield I saw the ET angels build in Italy in 2010. He wills up the the volcanic power of mother earth.  Instantly, I am my adult-sized again, only now I am young once more, about 27, and wear not my father’s red suit of failed ethereal armor, but the red, yellow and blue suit of Superman, my triumphant childhood hero.

I fly over to the fight at super speed to the fight scene, just as my father is about to make the death blow to Robin’s spirit, erasing him forever from human history.  I tap my Hook father on the shoulder and say hoarsely, “Stop Dad.”

My Hook father spins to me, screaming in my face like the madman he was in real life, when I’d shake but while I still faced him down, “You, worthless cur.  Every woman leaves you.  And who’s always the one to pick up the pieces?  Me!  Ha!  You stand up for a suicide after all I’ve done for you?  You make me sick, boy.”

“I am not your whipping boy anymore, Captain Hook.  Thanks for all you’ve done.  I’m grateful, Dad.  You were far from perfect and dangerous as truck full of nitro.  But I felt your love, your loyalty.  Now, seriously, leave Robin alone.”  I say with genuine love and compassion for my father, who though his sick mentally, was the only person I could ever depend on.

“Growed up?  Throwing away making millions in real estate to be an impoverished filmmaker at age 50?  That’s not grown-up, sonny boy, that’s bat-shit crazy.  You need to be locked up for your own good, ” says my Captain Hook father, motioning to some cops with a taser and straight jacket, hiding in the bushes.  They advance on me cautiously, afraid of my youthful Superman appearance.  Gone is the blubber of screenwriting in a chair for 11 years in Hollywood.

“I thank you for teaching me to fish, to hunt, to draw, to love.  I honor you, father.” I say bending to one knee before him.

“Ah, let me knight you then, boy!” says my Captain Hook father, bringing his sword down, hoping to cleave me in two.  But instead his sword shatters into a thousand shiny pieces without even cutting a hair on my super head.  I casually blow my super breath and “Matrix” cops sail off.

Robin flies into a joyous barrel roll above us, “Who hoo!  Sheetz is all grown up.  Heralds, play onto this fake world the Pandora channel of AWESOME!”

I stand and look lovingly into my dazed father’s eyes and take off his silly Hook wig.  Tears well in his grey blue eyes and Dad says, “Never could break you, Ken. Used to drive me nuts.  Today, I am proud.”

My father, as all who knew nothing of his epic dark side will tell you, gives the best bear hugs on earth.  And even in my super form I feel his power as he lifts me off my feet in a warm embrace.  For the first time in my life, I return his wild love in equal measure, bear hugging Dad right back.

Somehow Robin has impossibly wriggled himself between me and my father, whose dirty “before” t-shirt is now as clean and white as a Tide commercials “after” picture.  A Tide jingle plays in this fake world from a speaker on the cleaning robot.  I use my heat vision and melt the robot into a puddle silver.  Tinker Bell gazes at herself in the mirror puddle

“Sorry, no more product placements, Tide.  So big Ken and, Bill, isn’t your name?” offers Robin, all charm now.  My father nods “yes” respectfully.

Robin says, “Think you two, 20th century and 21st century marvels, can marvel all we trapped souls out of this corporate military industrial complex nightmare?”

“What do you say, Pops?  My light and your dark combined will crack Area 51 wide open,” I say hopefully.

bdblmp“I like it here, Son.  Fought in Korea to create all this perfection.  Welded the HARP mainframe myself, “says my dad sincerely, admiring his perfectly imperfect world.  A  blimp for Budweiser beer, with my jumbo screen of Aunt Katie swigging a beer sails over his head.

“This perfection killed your sis, Katie, Bill. It killed me.  I couldn’t hold to your insane standards of imperfect perfection anymore.  Lost myself in the booze and drugs.  I miss my wife and kids.  My fans.  Help your son.  It’s time we started over.   And this time the male and female must be honored equally,” offers Robin gently.

My dad scowls at his beautiful dead sister on the overhead blimp ad of her drinking a beer.  Without another word, he joins his hands to my forearms, as I learned to do getting off the boat in Antarctcia on 12.12.12, for the 24 meditations.  One for each time zone of the planet, now shifting the world with the help of millions of people like me.

“For my sisters Katie and Merytle,” says my father warmly.  He begins to darken as though covered with the grease from his life a welder and ace mechanic.

“For my birth daughter Janelle who has not spoken to me in 3 years, ” I add as I grow bright from my healing inner child within, no longer so afraid of his father.

“For both your grandpas Julius and Clarence!” says my father, growing as dark as the dark matter of space itself.

Robin, still in Peter Pan form, flies happy circles around us.  His back draft spins my father and me into a Ying and Yang of dark and light.  Robin adds to the growing Metatron energetic, which is permanent, and says, “For Zelda and Marhsa!  For Susan, Zak and Cody! For all my family, friends and fans!”

Outside the spirit HARP facility, a single guard on night duty looks up from his McDonald’s coffee as the HARP superstructure starts to shake and rumble like an earthquake is happening and says, “Oh shit…”

FirefoxScreenSnapz019“BANG-A-RANG!” shouts Robin William as he rockets in glowing green Peter Pan form, soaring from the crumbling spirit HARP.

Below, my father and I are a whirling dervish of silver grey energy.  We spin at a super sonic speed that sets off a silver tornado, tearing the spirit HARP to shreds of flying steel.  Air raid alarms blare and I know our demolition work is done. And so I say lovingly, “Good bye, Dad!”

“Good bye, Son!” my father says and as he kisses me on my cheek, bright as a super nova, his lips dark as a black hole and… BAM!

A mushroom cloud of released spirit energy sends out a shock wave of compressed air that flattens every structure on the Area 51 base.  My father gone, I watch as a Grey’s alien ship, from which all the tech had been stolen to steal souls, rises from the ashes of the spirit HARP.  The silvery ship tips its thanks to me and Robin and races off to the stars.

“Guess that’s a wrap, Robin.” I smile, backslapping Robin so hard I almost knock him out.  “Uh, sorry.  Forgot I’m still in Superman form.”

“Lucky for you I’m in still Peter Pan form.  Bet you never knew Pan is more powerful than Superman, did ya?” smiles Robin as the dust begins to clear and stars come out in earnest above the cleansed Area 51.

“What make you say that?  Supes has mighty strong Jumaji.” I laugh.

Heaven Couldn't Wait Robin Triumphant Version“Because Peter Pan, who always wanted to stay young, understands better than anyone the power of kids.  And more importantly, our inner kids.  That’s why, smart ass,” says Robin playfully.

“No arguments here, Robin.  Well, I guess this is goodbye.  Stay Peter Pan, cut your tether and fly off with Tinker Bell to that new universe we built yesterday,” I say without feeling sad about a goodbye to someone I love for the first time in my life.

“Agh!  Not yet.  I want the lesson of the Hellos and Goodbyes to really sink in for you, Sheetzy.  So helooo and bye to several trillion souls that you, your old man and I freed tonight.  We’ll start with the largest beings to smallest.” says Robin.

A line of blue whale spirits stretch out before us, hovering over desert floor.

“Hello, Ken, ” the first whale calls to me in whale tones I understand as words.

“Hello, Elizabeth,” I say amazed I know in my heart that the blue whale’s name.   Elizabeth the whale holds out a fin for a shake and I say with zero anxiety, “Goodbye, I hope you’ll finish your LA life and join me in Sedona some day. Don’t forget Ohom says you are my perfect mate.”  The giant blue whale vanishes.

Saying Goodbye without sadness or fear is super cool, Robin,” I say flashing the thumbs up to Peter Pan.  “I said bye knowing I’d faced all my father’s darkness with love and compassion.  I said it knowing my spirit daughter Elizabeth and I will meet again and share many adventures.”

“Might be hope for you yet, Super Sheetz,” says Robin.

I look at endless line of trillions of spirits freed of the Area 51 HARP and turn to Robin, my Super cape fluttering in the night air and say, “Robin, man, this is going to take forever. I really do get it.  Hello leads to goodbye and the goodbyes simply lead to back to hello.  I’m cool now.”

Robin floats off gracefully on his back, still in Peter Pan form, above the ruins of Area 51.  Tinker Bell infuses him with fresh fairy dust for the long journey to the labyrinth universe we’d made together yesterday, Robin says with the satisfied smile of a job well done on his lips, “That’s what eternity is for, Sheetzy.”

“But I have work to do today.  Tax reports need –“

“Time is not linear, Ken.  So that’s one Hello/Goodbye lesson down and six trillion, 999 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand and 999 souls to say Goodbye and Hello to to go,” grins Robin as he and Tinker Bell rocket off, leaving a trail of pixie dust across the Nevada night sky.

I happily return to my training from the patient spirits tapped here since 1957 by the spirit HARP and ready to be free after they share the Hello and Goodbye abandonment healing to go onto all their next lives and their own Neverlands.

RIP ROBIN WILLIAMS 1951-2014

AUGUST 15, 2014

I am at a local coffee shop called Bad Kitty in Sedona and the spirit of Robin Williams has dropped for an interview!

ROBIN: Hi world. It’s me, Robin. Or least Ken’s memory pattern of me. You decide!

KEN: Robin, great directing me in the spoof poster (left) yesterday. You’ve still got the magic touch.

ROBIN: Thanks, Sheetzy! Nice colab. I promise to keep haunting your ass!

KEN: Some people are saying you’re in hell. Was the poster a message you’re really in heaven?

ROBIN:  Hell no! There is no heaven or hell. I was in heaven. That’s what earth is. Tell you a secret, Sheetzo…

KEN: What, Robin?

ROBIN: I collabed with you on the poster as an FU to that slob Limbaugh! What a waste of radio waves that fat jerk is!

KEN: I love the poster even more then, Robin.

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The chair at Bad Kitty Coffee in Sedona where I interviewed the spirit of Robin Williams.

ROBIN: Enough about super-losers like, Rush. I want to say something to my wife; Oh, Suzie Q, I am so damn sorry, baby. We’ve been on so many great trips but this was one I had to go solo on, darlin’. I want you to know I am always with you, honey lamb.

KEN: Aw, Robin, hard for me to type through the tears.

ROBIN: Buck up, Sheetz! I need to say something to my kids.

KEN: Of course. Go ahead, Robin.

ROBIN: Zelda, Zak, Cody, oh, how I miss you all. If it helps, my leaving has ended my pain. It’s kind of like WHAT DREAMS MAY COME over here only no hell. You can eat almost anything. Feels very light headed over here. No judging jerks. I’m viewed no different for dying of depression that someone dying of cancer. Ain’t that cheery?! Ha! — So no rushing in to save me because there’s nothing to save me from. I live on in your hearts. You know that and it makes me glad. Makes me so proud of you, my ZZCs. Please tell your poor mom I am more than sorry it never worked out of us. But we made you and that’s always going to be our best thing we both ever did in life. M put up with my high highs and low low lows for a long time. She deserves a freaking super hero medal!

Robin sits quietly across from me drinking in the sweet Sedona energy and nods to add…

ROBIN: To my fans, I miss being alive! To live, ah the good times we had. I felt your love for so long. Feel it still here where I am munching on a hedge. I know some part of me lives, the silliest and best part of me, on and on your hearts too. Maybe too much. Take it easy. I was just a comedian, a trickster, for Christ’s sake. Please, don’t follow my lead. Get help when you get too blue. Hey that’s a poem. Ok, Ken, thanks for this, fantasy or reality, who gives a nano of a nanoo!

KEN: My honor and pleasure. Where you off to, Robin?

ROBIN: Got an appointment with a flock pigeons.

KEN: Pigeons?

ROBIN: Yep. Guiding the flock to poo all over Rush Limbaugh’s freshly washed car! Ciao, all! Muaah! Muaah! Muaah!

Robin vanishes from the chair. The sound of a flock of pigeons fluttering off with Robin as I finish my coffee with a chuckle. Well, friends, you deicide if my encounters with the spirit of Robin Williams are real or not. You see, I’m not really sure myself. Typical me if you follow my work. I’ll never be 100% sure of my gifts I see. But I now see that not-sureness is a gift that keeps me humble and grounded in the real world. My unsureness is a tether to keep me on this side. Yes, I’m just happy to be half way sure these days after a lifetime of suppressing my psychic gifts.

AUGUST 16, 2014

I work early this Saturday morning and rolled over in my bed to see what the day was going to be like. There, on the pillow beside me, was the spirit of Robin Williams starring me in face with big grin.

Robin said, “Gotta do something about your snoring of, Sheetzo, or you’ll never get laid again!”

I laughed, overjoyed to see Robin was looking young and spry like his “Mork and Mindy” days.

“Let’s do a meditation. The guys on this side say you rock the cosmos for a human,” said Robin sounding a bit anxious I might decline.

“Absolutely! Close your eyes, Robin,” I said.

“Do I still have eyes to close?” said Robin slapping his cheeks. “Okay, felt that. Here goes.” and Robin and I closed our eyes in unison.

“Hang on. We need to leave the planet for this one. I need lots of space,” I said confidently. Robin groped the bed sheets for my hand. “Watch it, Robin. That’s not my hand!”

“Don’t blame me, Sheetz-a-rama. You said to close my eyes before we got all touchy feely!” said Robin with a chuckle.

Finally Robin and I managed to clasp hands. They were hairy hands. Strong. “Ease up on the grip, Robin. You won’t fall.”

As I said this we rocketed through the roof of the troublesome but beautiful place I rent in Sedona. Robin screamed in that hilarious way he has in so many movies in genuine shock, no acting here.

Soon we was broke free of earth’s atmosphere. I gazed at the sun and flew for at five times the speed of light. “You’re heading for the sun! We’ll be burnt alive. Oh wait. I’m dead… Proceed, Sheetzy!”

A black square opened in the face of the sun. “Potal. Hang on, Robin!”

Robin screamed like a banshee as we rocketed one million times the speed of light down a worm hole. I’ve done this before over countless lives I could now recall and simply yawned.

We shot from the worm hole and were surrounded by total blackness. Robin kept screaming while I patiently waited for him to chill like me.

“Oh! Oh! Oh! Total nothingness! Where the heck are we, Mr. Sheetz!” shouted Robin.

“Right where we need to be, outside our universe. I said we needed space. Didn’t I?” I said calmly to Robin,

“You didn’t say EMPTY space!” said Robin, so freaked out he’d forgotten he was dead as I scanned his mind with mine. Which was a good thing. I wanted that for him.

“Okay, are we done freaking out now, Robin? Let’s do some magic. Look closer at the darkness. See? It’s filled with energy,” I said as now bright splotches of every color of the rainbow, densely dotted the infinity around us.

Robin calmed and whistled in excitement.

“Now, concentrate. Let’s pulls all this light and energy to us.” I said holding forth my hands. Robin copied my hand gestures. Colors, of a spectrum far greater than the human eye can see, stretched for us and began filling Robin and I with light and energy.

Soon a ball of light was all about Robin and me and he said, “Wow. What the heck are we doing, Ken?”

“Watch.” I said a bit amazed I knew exactly what I was doing as effortlessly as making a morning coffee.

The ball of light became a world. Not your typical world but a world filled with a huge green hedge of mazes that circled the globe. I willed a large plaza to form on the surface.

Stellar gasses ignited and the maze world saw its first sunrise. Robin’s mouth hung open in childlike wonder. And before he could ask another question I willed us into the plaza. Birds sang in the dawn light.

Robin opened his mouth to speak. I held a finger to my lips for him to be silent. A young woman with daisies in her hair exited a section of the vibrant lush maze hedge.

Tears poured from Robin’s cheeks as he dashed across the carpet of flowers and grass for the young woman shouting, “Zelda! Oh Zelda!”

Robin and his daughter met in loving embrace in the middle of the plaza. Now Robin’s sons Zak and Cody, his wife Susan and ex-wife Marsha ran from various maze points and joined the joyous reunion. More family and friends, some very famous, joined the growing throng of love.

No one remembered Robin was dead, not even Robin. All that existed was love outside the boundaries of time and space and deep sense of reunion. This was our gift to Robin, me and Ohom my higher ET self. Ohom let me do all this. The very first solo use of manifesting powers at this level to create this planetary maze for an amazing world of peace and love. A fresh new world for Robin and all who love him.

Millions of fans of Robin were streaming from the maze exits and I willed the biggest stadium ever in existence into reality. A stage of paradox with millions of people who all had front row seats to watch Robin reunite with his current family, his long dead family and those yet to be born, into infinity.

The audience began to chant, “Robin, Robin, Robin!” Robin seated his family on the stage and took a microphone I gave him. More and more stars were appearing in the sky above us which had no atmosphere. We had no need for air here. Not while a new universe was being born.

A spotlight from the top of a maze hedge lit up Robin, sporting a rainbow-colored shirt and silver baggy pants.

In my home back in Sedona I was no longer me. I was gone. I was Robin and I chose to sit on the edge of the stage, which was also the edge of my bed. Everyone’s love for me was overwhelming. I, Robin Williams, the man who had a wisecrack for everything, was speechless.

My microphone began to glow with a golden white light. I pulled it to my lips, but no words came. So I said to myself, “Go with it! Mime time!”

I floated above the love gathering. So much love! I released a billion white butterflies of light, one for everyone here on planet maze. Laughter and applause echoed through the new universe. Robin beamed a bright smile and resisted words to the end, just soaking in all the love and light.

I opened my eyes in Sedona. Ken again. And proceed to the kitchen, light as feather, to make coffee and started my Saturday with my guest Genevieve and Hanny, who were here to take a visit to Angel Valley with me today to walk the labyrinth for a http://dreamshield.org/ meditation. A meditation that turned out to be the conclusion to a planetary meditation I’d stated in 2011 in Nashville to end addiction on the earth. I felt Robin with me in the maze whenever I goofed around.

A fitting thing on a day when I hope I helped Robin’s spirit find peace and he helped me in ending addiction that’s torn apart of father and brother. Hoping it was enough to help him on his way and give peace to his loved ones. And hoping that Robin won’t be waking me up in my bed ever again!

SUICIDE AND THE AFTERLIFE

There’s been a lot of judging by the religious of Robin’s needing to end his life.  On Friday I unfriended a religious person who reacted vehemently to my poster I did for and with Robin. The reason being they could not let go of judging Robin as unworthy of heaven. I let this pass for the first round of comments but then they returned with a snide inappropriate comment. I don’t mind some healthy debate in the proper forum, but I could see my modern paradoxical way of thinking was only agitating this good person so I ended the FB friendship.

That FB thread is not a place I choose to tolerate old belief system judgments or any kind of wisecracking that’s Rush Limbaugh-like in it’s level arrogance about matters none of us really know about. The religious are free to have their opinions on my pages as long as they acknowledge they don’t really have the answers and operate in mutual respect here. Probably it is unrealistic of me to expect that of the religious minded as they are locked into the old ways with years of mental conditioning. Still I send the person I unfriended here in the middle of the night love as send them on their way. Indeed, my modern beliefs more closely follow those of my friend Dannion Brinkley, who has survived many near deaths and seen the other side. Dannion told me in after a 2012 interview I did of him, wish I had that part on camera, that there is no shaming or special penalties for suicide victims in the afterlife.

However, suicide does, according to Dannion, and all we know is no one really knows, mean you must relive your life over again after a nice rest and repeat the lessons of your karma. That’s a lot of incentive not to take your own life. I sure wouldn’t want to repeat my past again. But Dannion says sometimes a soul like Robin’s simply becomes too overwhelmed with pain and they use their free right to end their own suffering. And of course the hardest part of it all is the pain suicide inflicts on those left behind. In Robin’s case he left children and a wonderful wife behind who are suffering terribly. His pain had to be enormous to take the exit door.

Robin’s depression was paralyzing for him to not to be able to avoid inflicting such pain on his loved ones. If there is a heaven – and, again, no one really knows in fact if there is or is not, despite what some religious people are preaching as they judge suicide Robin’s crime as punishable by an eternity of hell – in Dannion’s viewings of the after life he saw, no one takes the hardline and judges suicide as evil. Indeed, the suicidal depression that killed Robin is viewed in the afterlife Dannion saw as being no different, and with no less love and compassion, than is given for someone dying of plane crash.

I like that. It fits my intuitive belief of life a universe like the animal kingdom of non-judgement. We are the only shaming species.  In fact Dannion says there is no hell at all. What does happen is you have a past life review and must relive your life through the eyes of those you caused to suffer before you can go onto the next life to relive your karma. So if you murdered someone, for an awful example, you are going to suffer that murder yourself and feel what it was like to be killed by your old self. Robin’s case is special. Applying Dannion’s beliefs, Robin, so connected to so many who loved him will be reliving millions of lives of hurt fans he left behind in addition to his close friends and family’s lives. That’s going to be long and painful journey for Robin, if Dannion has it right. But Dannion explains that’s why time is eternal and non-linear.

Well, an amazing thing is happening with Robin’s passing. For the first time talk of suicide is in the open. In the end that’s healthy for us all. My wish for Robin is that he gets to live that next life without the manic depression illness that caused him so much pain it led to all his addictions and yet that he – or she as the case may be next go around – still be as brilliant an entertainer.

I’ll keep you posted about more encounters with ETs, the dead, Gods and Goddesses, right here.  Bottom line, there’s way more to the universe than what we can see and touch.

HOW MY PSYCHIC GIFTS HAPPENED

Here’s my video about how I got my gifts to see more than the average bear.

WINNING A GREEK GOLDEN GLOBE

“O Helena, goddess, nymph, perfect, divine! 
To what, my love, shall I compare thine eyne?
Crystal is muddy. O, how ripe in show
Thy lips, those kissing cherries, tempting grow!”
 
– William Shakespeare, “Midsummer Nights Dream”

By Ken Sheetz

Sunday morning meditation 8.18.13. Sedona Arizona area.

I lay tucked in bed in my cozy room at the Desert Rose B&B, up for the day and doing my daily morning meditation.  I have no idea I am about to have the biggest vision since the launch of DreamShield in 2010 when I saw 7 foot tall blue skinned ET angels.

FirefoxScreenSnapz087I feel called off world and I astral project myself from the resort in Sedona and quickly rocket into space.  In no time at all I am past the moon.  I will myself to greater speed.  Faster than I have ever traveled before in meditation or dreams, I break all laws of physics.  I zip past galaxies faster than any human has ever traveled, an impossible one billion times the speed of light.

I come to stop and hover outside the universe(s).  It’s a gorgeous vast tangle of galaxies, resembling the human brain’s trillions of neurons, majestically spread before me to infinity.

Now the galaxies shift into a pattern of symbols.  A mega “download”.  — A somewhat annoying New Age slang term for compressed wisdom transmitted from the spirit world of the ETs.  One day we’ll have a better word than the robotic sounding download for these amazing transmissions of so much loving knowledge that takes up so little human drive space in our brains.

What I witness in this epic download is a mixture of Reiki symbols and new alien symbols never seen before by human eyes.  I make a mental note to use hypnosis to recall them at a later date.  Recording them using the pen and paper on my nightstand would end the vision before I could copy down more than a few of the 77 dazzling symbols made of trillions of galaxies floating before me.

All for later to recall this and share it.  Or perhaps not at all as this may be a simple relay job for me.   Much of my vision work is like that.  Another reason not to disturb the vision by jotting down the amazing symbols formed of all the galaxies.  I see now, like our Gaia, galaxies are living creatures.  The galaxies have flown into these patterns, like a flock of birds, for me to see this message that will transform me and our world in ways we cannot even imagine.  For now, laying peacefully in my bed, at my Sedona base of operations for DreamShield meditations and the incredible day job of filming THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS, this cosmic majesty is more than enough.

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TRAIN IN THE RAIN

I reflect on the night before, where I took the stars of the new hit web series with over 25 million views, Patrick Flanagan and his wife Stephanie, as my guests on the Verde Valley train ride.  It rains the whole train trip, from heavy to light.  I tell the amazing couple I am sorry for the rain blocking out the stars and moon.  But as long-time residents of the desert, both are happy for the rain.

While the rain and rocks of the Verde river fly the windows, Patrick is lost in his virtual lab. An inner sanctuary where he perfects his inventions before bringing them out to share in this world.  Stephanie and he have a passionate relationship I have been lucky to catch on film.  Neither pulls any punches debating the Shift and their roles in it.  And a little wine and champagne sets off another of their brush fire talks.

As always, I am amazed these two can argue so heatedly like this and be hugging and kissing five minutes later.  It’s something I would enjoy to a smaller degree in my next relationship.   They purge and a process oceans of male and female energies like nothing I have ever witnessed.

_DSC2902A big part of the train ride is spent coaching Stephanie on dealing with the criticisms of friends and strangers about her part in THE FLANAGAN EXPERIMENTS. These superb videos have been her first direct public exposure before the camera.  I teach her that many people have hidden agendas and petty jealousies when they make comments.  Extreme caution must be taken when listening to feedback.  Truly honest and tasteful feedback people are a rare commodity.

Frankly, when Patrick told me he wanted to share the spotlight his wife Stephanie, who had never been on camera before, I was against it.  But I listen to genius, one of my exceptions, and so I filmed Steph.  I was blown away with her deep knowledge of the ancient Mayan calendar and how its’ still very much alive.  I’ve learned from her the Mayan calendar didn’t really end on 12.21.12 like we all thought.  Kind of embarrassing for a guy basing his whole life preparing for that date for three years.  Click here to see Stephanie’s brilliant interview on the new Vimeo channel I am building for Patrick.

Patrick wants to stay in the first-class indoor car to keep working on his new invention.  He literally creates electrical diagrams in his mind first before placing pencil to paper.  Stephanie ‘s disappointed her husband is lost in thought and I escort her out of the train car into the rain.   We have the outdoor viewing car mostly to ourselves, except for a worried old tour guide from the east coast who frets about us slipping on the wet deck.  Stephanie and I grab a spot out of the direct rain under the awnings, normally meant for shade from the hot Arizona sun.

Here in the freshest damp air I’ve ever breathed, I teach Stephanie a bit my Hollywood School of Hard Knocks skills on how to listen, sift what may be useful from comments and move on.  This hard-won skill took me years to develop.  So I advise Steph to be patient with herself as she grows a thicker skin for her vital work as a new web celeb.

As the train winds through the rain-soaked desert, the smell of wet sage fills my lungs.  It’s then I realize helping Stephanie overcome this negativity and other negativity that bombards her sensitive soul, is one of the reasons I’ve been brought here to Sedona.

DreamShield is uniquely positive in its mission.  Wildly positive in the face of epic negativity.  All will be well in the end no matter how bad things may look is its simple yet potent message of hope.  I see in Stephanie’s face a lifting of the veil of the negative forces keeping her down.  My heart soars as we sip our champagnes while the rain-soaked train steams past ancient Hopi ruins carved in the rock mountains.

The rain lets up and I coax Patrick to take a break, from inventing god only knows what, to venture out of the luxury train car onto the open air platforms where all the majesty of the desert surrounds us.  Light rain pelts me and I now get why the dynamic couple are happy about the rain.  Patrick rejoins his wife of eighteen years with hugs and kisses.  No residue of their little argument remains.

Patrick, who has been in the public eye since the 1960s when LIFE MAGAZINE featured him as one of the top ten scientists to watch in the world, reinforces what I am teaching Stephanie about ignoring and filtering harsh comments of strangers and loved ones.  I realize this new stress of being exposed on the web is Stephanie’s the source of physical pain in her leg that she complained of as our train pulled out of Clarkdale.

With her permission and Pat’s support, I give Steph a train ride Reiki treatment.  I picture a globe of water energy soothing her cramped leg and send all tension down into the train tracks to be crushed.  Soon as I finish the healing, Stephanie hops from the bench and starts dancing on the train car deck as PEACE TRAIN plays on the PA.  I say to Patrick, “Wow.  My best Reiki healing ever.”  I only do these healings for friends, even though I constantly get heat from my Reiki teacher Dorothy Donahue in LA to hang up a shingle.

Patrick looks worried Stephanie is hopping around on the hurt leg so soon on the slippery wet train deck.  I simply shrug in amazement.

As the train ride nears its end, we pass through an old slag heap from when this scenic train line used to carry copper, not sight-seers.  The train track cuts through the heart of the slag heap.  And the old train conductor explains, with his thick east coast accent, that the slag is has just been bought by a mining company to sift gold, silver and other raw minerals from it.   Bought for 1.5 million dollars.  Not bad for an old slag heap from 1911 when this train line was first built.

I hold forth my hand at the slag heap as the trains passes through the carved channel.  I will the slag heap to send a healing surge into all aboard this train, pulled by an eagle painted engine car.  A sign for yours truly who has an eagle pattern as a natural tattoo in his head from seeing angels in Italy.  I see the sparkles of gold float into all of us.  Another download.

WINNING A GOLDEN GLOBE

Back to the next morning meditation where I travel beyond the universe: The moist desert air from the train ride with Pat and Steph has done me good.  I woke rested from my best sleep so far in Sedona.  Usually, the dry desert air and my sinuses issue are a serious problem I battle here in Sedona all night long.  Guess I am adapted to a lifetime the humid climates of Lake Michigan and the Pacific.

FirefoxScreenSnapz086I record the epic sight of the universe(s) condensed to code with a mental snapshot to review later in hypnosis.  I turn from the strange new symbols formed from galaxies to find myself standing at the front entrance of a small shop.  I look up at the sign and it says “Golden Age Curiosities”.

A shop bell chimes as I enter the magical little store.  The golden light of the shop is something you can feel as well as see.

A young goddess with sandy red hair looks up from her golden cash register. “Welcome to our little shop at the end of the universes.  What reality can I help with you, Mr Sheetz?” she says gesturing to golden shelves filled with various realities held suspended in crystal globes.

“Cool,” I say, “I’m looking for something peaceful for Earth but not boring.”

“We don’t do boring, ” says the goddess shopkeeper, taking me by the arm.  She guides me a few paces from her counter to browse new realities contained in beautiful globes lining her store’s golden shelves.

“May I suggest our Grecian Reboot model?” the goddess says with a dazzling smile. “Perfect thing for worlds like yours that need major overhaul.”

I am a power shopper in real life and I know when I’ve found the right thing, so I say, “Sold!  What’s your name, miss?”

The graceful goddess lifts the Grecian Reboot globe from the shelf as she says, “Helena.”

“Wow.  As in Helena of Troy?” I wonder.

“Just Helena,” she giggles, casually boxing my purchase of new reality for earth.  Just another day’s work for this goddess.

Pardon my brief detour from recounting the meditation vision of Helena’s store.  But as I write this I blog I just researched on Google, our modern Oracle, and I see why Helena giggles at me here in the re-telling of the epic vision.  #1 it’s Helen of Troy. #2 Helena is a daughter of Zeus.  Some references cite Helena, not as daughter but as a consort to Zeus.  Yahoo says Helena was not a goddess of any particular thing.  Not anymore.

I also just found the Shakespeare quote top of the blog, all found post-vision and note how amazing it is that it’s from “A Midsummer Night’s Dream,” here during midsummer in Sedona!  All these clues are meant to show me and you, dear reader, to take these vision as real on another plane of reality.  This globe of change is real that sweet Helena has gifted us.

FirefoxScreenSnapz088I peer into the Grecian Reboot globe and see the Parthenon of Greece, restored to full glory, operating in energetic lockstep with a mock Parthenon in Nashville.  A fit to all my recent visions of a Greece that never fell.  A lost timeline of a Golden Age that never ended that we are rejoining .

“Will this really do the trick for my messed up world, Helena?”

“We guarantee all our new realities, Mr. Sheetz.” Helena says with a smile that fills my heart with golden light.

The dazzling vision of Helena’s shop fades.  I lay contented in bed at the resort in meditation a while longer, awaiting more wonders.  Then I realize I am being greedy.  How the heck do you top a meditation about a golden globe given to you by the goddess Helena at the end of the universe for rebooting your home planet?

Eat your heart out, Hollywood.  No wonder I don’t bother with TV or movies much anymore.  Why with the wonders that lie within… free and easy to access?  Just a little good breathing, some concentration and, zoom, your off the stars!

I chuckle at my old Matrix greed that lingers and hop from bed a freer man.  Time for a bike ride in the desert and then coffee to blog about this while all is fresh in my mind.

Here’s my video about rain in the desert from 2005.